


The Most Beautiful Man in the World, Who Lives in Clarke Griffin's Apartment Building and Only Ever Sees Her When She Looks Disgusting

by Epicharis



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, minor wellven, ofgeography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 09:32:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10694265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epicharis/pseuds/Epicharis
Summary: Clarke Griffin just so happens to live in the same apartment building as The Most Beautiful Man in the World who, unfortunately, only sees her when she looks disgusting.Meanwhile, Bellamy Blake lives in the same apartment building as The Most Beautiful Girl in the World, who only ever seems to see him when he looks disgusting (or is being awkward).(ALL credit for this idea goes to ofgeography.tumblr.com)





	The Most Beautiful Man in the World, Who Lives in Clarke Griffin's Apartment Building and Only Ever Sees Her When She Looks Disgusting

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Most Beautiful Man in the World, Who Lives in My Building and Only Ever Sees Me When I Look Disgusting](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/285324) by Molly Hall (ofgeography.tumblr.com). 



> This is a fanfic prompted by ofgeography's tumblr post 'The Most Beautiful Man in the World, Who Lives in my building and Only Ever Sees Me When I look Disgusting'. 
> 
> (read post here: https://ofgeography.tumblr.com/post/157149264909/the-most-beautiful-man-in-the-world-who-lives-in )
> 
> All credit goes to her. I changed it ever so slightly but basically used the exact events she outlines. Thanks to her for writing such a funny, relatable post. I saw a few requests for this to be a fic so I wrote it. Again, all credit to her. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

**Clarke**

 

The Most Beautiful Man in the World lived in Clarke Griffin’s apartment building. The first time she saw him was when riding the bus home from work after her bike had a puncture, and her heart lit up in a way she had never experienced before. She thought that she must know him, but she didn’t. He was just The Most Beautiful Man in the World. He was standing up and leaning against one of the bus poles, wearing large framed glasses that he pushed up his nose occasionally, a white button-up shirt with rolled up sleeves and the top two buttons undone that seemed to be a size too big, and a worn leather satchel that was hanging from his shoulder. He was reading something thick and hardback, holding the book in one hand and what looked like a dark brown cardigan in the other. It seemed that at the same time as Clarke saw him a ray of golden sunshine shone in through the window, illuminating his tanned face and freckles. She snapped herself out of her reverie as the bus pulled into the stop opposite her apartment and started to stand so she could get off when she saw him closing his book and stashing it away in his satchel. She kept slightly behind him as they and a few others got off the bus, and followed him to her apartment building with growing wonder at how she had never seen him before until he veered off to the left to the mail room. Clarke rode the elevator alone, somehow both glad and disappointed that he hadn’t seen her – she wanted to try and strike up a conversation, but she wasn’t wearing any make-up and her hair was in a messy bun on the top of her head. If she was going to talk to The Most Beautiful Man in the World, she wanted to look her best.

 

In the weeks that followed she didn’t see him again. She had her bike fixed and couldn’t justify the extra expenditure of getting the bus when it was a ten-minute walk from the hospital to the nearest bus stop. It was just over a month later, on a Saturday, when their paths crossed. She was wearing a blue maxi dress that she had hiked up over her knees to cycle, and she was returning from seeing Raven (who had given her such a scolding about forgetting her helmet that Clarke vowed she never would again). The summer sun was beating down on the city, and Clarke could feel the sweat on her brow as she wiped it with the back of her palm and walked her bike to the spacious elevator. The doors started to shut, and she picked up her pace.

               “Could you hold the elevator?” She called, hurrying over as her dress fell back down over her legs. A tanned hand pushed back the doors slightly as they started to shut, and they slowly slid back open. Clarke angled her handlebars to go into the elevator, then looked up to thank whoever was inside. It was The Most Beautiful Man in the World, Who Lived in Her Building – this time without his glasses and wearing a dark blue t-shirt and sneakers. He was looking at her, seemingly surprised, and she was horribly aware of her windswept hair, being covered in sweat and her crumpled skirt. She faltered for a moment.

               “I – uh – thanks.”

               “No worries,” he said, then paused. “Do you need a hand with that?”

It occurred to her then that she was still standing outside the elevator.

               “No, I can do it. I just need to-” she shoved the bike in, and he moved backwards out of her way as she stepped in behind it, leaned forward and pressed the button for the fourth floor. The button for the sixth floor was already lit up. The elevator doors shut and they stood in awkward silence, filled only by the hum of machinery. Clarke had never been more aware of how she looked, and wondered, mortified, if he could smell her. She ran a hand over her hair, trying to smooth it in a pitiful attempt at making herself presentable. After what felt like an eternity the doors opened on her floor, and she awkwardly manoeuvred her bike out of the elevator, running over his foot in the process (and cringing as she did).

               “I’m sorry,” was all she could manage to get out, as the doors were shutting, but he couldn’t reply before the elevator doors closed. Clarke closed her eyes and softly banged her head against the wall, then took her bike by the handle bars and walked to her door, eager to shower.

 

The next time she saw him was only a week later. She had her hair pulled up on top of her head in what could only be described as a messy bun, but had none of the fashionable elements that were often attributed to a bun of that name. She was holding two huge bags of popcorn, one under each arm, and had a Three Musketeers bar in her mouth as the friendly doorman, David Miller, greeted her.

               “Are you having a party, Clarke?” He smiled, holding the door open for her and nodding to the popcorn in her arms. Clarke shook her head.

               “Oh no, I’m not having a party, this is literally all for me,” she said, muffled through her stuffed cheeks. It wasn’t until then that she noticed The Most Beautiful Man in the World, who was standing behind her. He edged round her, raising a hand in greeting to Mr Miller as he went with a smile. Was he laughing at her? Clarke felt herself blush, and she smiled (or tried to as best she could with the chocolate in her mouth) at Mr Miller and hurried inside. The Most Beautiful Man in the World was not in the elevator this time, which simultaneously provided her with no further opportunity to embarrass herself and no chance to redeem herself either. Still, this was only the third time she had seen him. She was certain that the next time would not be anywhere near as embarrassing.

 

She was wrong.

 

The next time she saw him was in the elevator again, three weeks later. This time she was sweat-free, and would even go so far as to say she looked nice. This was counter-acted by the fact that in her haste to get into the elevator (why?? It would have been back in five minutes!) she literally fell into it, and found herself steadied by a pair of strong hands inside that caught her quickly. She looked up and found herself looking into the eyes of The Most Beautiful Man in the World – which were, fittingly, a beautiful brown with a few flecks of gold.

               “I’m sorry,” she apologised, righting herself quickly and pressing the button for the fourth floor. “I’m not usually like that.”

               “No worries,” he smiled slightly, then looked forward at the doors. Clarke stood silently, trying to think of something, anything, to say to him – but then the elevator dinged and the doors opened. She took a step to leave, and then (she didn’t even know how this happened) tripped again and fell out of the elevator. She heard him laugh as the doors shut, and she groaned and lay back on the floor.

 

               “Sounds like you need to pull yourself together,” Raven said, digging a spoon into the sundae that they and Wells were sharing.

               “Have you ever known me to be like this around anyone?” Clarke asked, exasperated. “Even with Lexa, I wasn’t this nervous.”

Lexa had been her first long-term relationship, the first time she experienced real butterflies – but she had never been this much of a klutz around her.

               “Maybe you should stop thinking about him as The Most Beautiful Man in the World, and you won’t get as nervous?” Wells suggested.

               “But he is The Most Beautiful Man in the World,” Clarke and Raven said together.

               “Raven, you haven’t even seen him,” Wells argued, but he was smiling.

               “I trust that we have the same taste in guys,” Raven replied, shrugging.

               “Yeah, but not necessarily good taste. After all, you both dated Finn. At the same time, I might add,” Wells said, and Clarke rolled her eyes at the mention and had a spoonful of ice cream.

               “And now I’m dating you, because she set us up,” Raven countered, and Wells considered this for a moment.

               “Yeah, that’s a fair point.”

Clarke burst out laughing, and the conversation moved on.

 

**Bellamy**

 

The first time he saw The Most Beautiful Girl in the World was in the elevator. He had heard her calling and held it open for her, and nothing could prepare him from the bombshell that would arrive. She literally looked like she was glowing. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the sun, her hair was swept back and shone gold in the poor unnatural lighting of the elevator and her eyes were an electric blue. He realised he was staring a second too late.

               “I - uh – thanks,” she said, but didn’t move. Great. He had creeped her out. Fantastic. Maybe he could bring it back.

               “No worries,” (‘ _Who says that? You’re meant to sound cool, dumbass_ ,’ he thought.) There was still time to save it. “Do you need a hand with that?”

She looked surprised.

               “No, I can do it. I just need to-”

She forced the bike into the elevator, then followed it in and pressed the button. He wasn’t sure if he should say anything, and he couldn’t think of what he would say, and then the elevator doors opened and she pulled her bike out. The wheel went over his foot, but in truth he could hardly feel it. Then she apologised, looking mortified, but the doors closed before he could say it was fine.

 

The next time he saw her she was talking to Miller’s dad. He could see her from across the road as he walked from the bus stop, and he couldn’t help but feel glad that The Most Beautiful Girl in the World wasn’t one of the assholes who ignored Mr Miller, who was a great guy.

               “… no, I’m not having a party, this is literally all for me,” she enthused, and Bellamy couldn’t help but smile at how happy she looked as he waved at Mr Miller on his way past to check for mail from Octavia, who was attending college across the country and living with Lincoln, her boyfriend. Part of him hoped that The Most Beautiful Girl in the World needed to check her mail too. She didn’t.

 

               “All you have to do is ask your dad what her name is,” Bellamy said to Miller as Miller wiped down the bar one Tuesday after it had shut for the night. ‘The Lock Up’ was a popular bar in town, and one that Miller had been able to finance with help from his dad. His dad had a huge number of savings from being one of the top cops in the city before he retired and became the doorman for his apartment building, simply to keep the boredom at bay in civilian life.

               “Right, and how would that conversation go? ‘Excuse me, dad, but Bellamy has a huge crush on a girl he has never spoken to who looks like “ _if the sun was a person_ ”-” Miller etched out the air quotations, “would you mind telling me her name so his stalking can reach the next level?”

               “I’m not stalking her, we live in the same building. I’ve seen her twice.”

               “Maybe you’re not stalking her because you don’t know who she is, and if you found out you would start. Really, we’re just doing you a favour,” Jasper grinned as he went through the takings for the night.

               “Have you tried searching ‘The Most Beautiful Girl in the World’ on Facebook?” Monty asked, and his friends burst out laughing again. Bellamy rolled his eyes but smiled as he grabbed his jacket.

               “Did we hurt your feelings?” Jasper asked, and Murphy replied before Bellamy could;

               “Nah, it’s a school night. He has to teach some hormonal teenagers about Ancient Rome. Hey, maybe they can give you advice on how to get over a crush?”

               “Alright, alright, good night, douchebags,” Bellamy grinned, pulling on his jacket and heading out into the night.

 

The next time he saw her was a disaster. He had literally just spilled salsa down his white shirt before he left, and had made it all the way downstairs before he noticed. He was on his way back up to change when The Most Beautiful Girl in the World fell into the elevator. He caught her, and when he looked down at her he was not prepared for the intensity of the look that came back. She stood up, and he put his hands in his pockets. There was no way she could not see this salsa mess, and would probably think he was some kind of man-child. He just had to own it.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, pressing the button for the fourth floor. “I’m not usually like that.”

               “No worries,” he said, then cringed. (What was that? Why did he keep saying it?). He just looked ahead, hoping she wouldn’t look at him if he didn’t bring attention to himself. The elevator arrived at her floor, and when she fell out he couldn’t help but laugh. His tension about how stupid he looked dissipated and the doors closed.

 

He saw her again two days later in the mailroom. He had just got back from work, his satchel was heavy with books and plastic wallets of essays about the treatment of Agrippina the Younger in Tacitus. He tried to keep it from sliding off his shoulder as he fiddled with his keyring to find his post box key but it slid down, hitting the floor with a loud thud. He sighed, looking down at it.

“Why? Why did you do that when I explicitly asked you not to?” He muttered, looking across at the pile of papers that had spilled out of it. It wasn’t until he turned fully around that he realised anyone else was there. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World was crouched on the floor, helping to collect his papers.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he said, bending down to her level and hurriedly beginning to clean them up.

“No worries,” she smiled, and she looked down at the papers in her hand. “You’re a teacher?”

“Uh, yeah. Classical history. A bit of Latin. Some Ancient… here, let me take those. Sorry about this,” he scooped the papers out of her hand.

“That’s a pretty impressive skill set,” she replied as he stuffed the papers in his bag.

“What about you, what do you do?” He asked, trying to shift the focus off of him and his embarrassment.

“I’m a doctor. I mean, I’m still in training. But I will be a doctor… Um, I’m sorry about your foot.”

“My foot?” He repeated, and she cringed.

“Yeah, when I ran over it? It was a while ago, you probably don’t remember – um, I was the sweat monster with the bike who crushed your foot.”

“No, of course I remember you. It didn’t hurt – and I don’t recall any sweat monster.”

“You don’t?” Her eyebrows arched slightly as she smiled. “Well, then, forget I said that.”

He grinned and shut his mailbox.

               “I’m Bellamy, by the way. Bellamy Blake.”

               “Clarke Griffin.”

Clarke Griffin. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World finally had a name. They headed over to the elevator, and Bellamy watched with pleasant surprise as Clarke pushed the button for the fourth floor, then the button for the sixth. Bellamy looked down at her, shoving his hands into his cardigan pockets as the doors closed.

               “This might be strange, but-”

               “Do you want to go on a date with me?” Clarke asked abruptly, then looked guilty. “I’m sorry, that was really rude of me. What were you saying?”

               “No, no, not at all – I was just going to ask you that.”

               “Oh,” she smiled, looking pleasantly surprised. “I’m free tonight. Unless that’s too early. Or later in the week…”

               “No, no, tonight is great. It’s perfect. 8 o’clock?”

“Sure!” The elevator doors opened and The Most Beautiful Girl in the World – Clarke – stepped out. “I’m in 412.”

“Okay, I’ll be there at 8!” He grinned, and the smile he got back from Clarke was exquisite as the doors shut.

 

**Clarke**

 

The doors shut on The Most Beautiful Man in the World. She spun around in a gleeful circle. She had a date. With Bellamy Blake, The Most Beautiful Man in the World Who Just Happened to Live in Clarke’s Apartment Building.

 

 

(Their date would go well, and they would stop being the labels of The Most Beautiful Man/Girl in the World and become just Bellamy and Clarke who, to each other, were the most beautiful people in the world.)

 


End file.
